Skulls and Watches
by Happyellar
Summary: How Sherlock and John meet as children. Starts slow, John and Sherlock friendship further on, slash in chapters to come. A long developed story, not sure how long it will be! Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

Grief is always a confusing and struggling topic for anyone of any age. John Hamish Watson had had to go through that gruelling process at the bare age of seven.

Moving house is also a confusing and struggling topic. And yes, John Watson had to also go through that process at the age of seven.

When these two topics happen at once, everything is extra confusing and struggling. And even more so for John, who in the bare space of two months had turned seven. He had been told his father died whilst at war and moved towns. So when John Watson moved house with a grieving family, his life was very confusing and very struggling.

John and his older sister had fought in the car on the way to their new home. They were now sitting in the back of the small blue Ford, sulking. John had another, more important reason to sulk. He had been forced to leave his friends, his home, and he now had to move to a new house in a new town. The little navy car pulled outside the new house and the Watson's got out.

John leant against the car and crossed his arms. 'He didn't like the house at all' he immediately decided. He looked around, and his decision was instantly guaranteed when he saw the much more magnificent houses across the road compared to the much smaller looking house he was now to live in.

John's mother opened the house and John slowly walked to the door. Dragging his bag on the ground, but before he went inside, he turned around once more, and something caught his eye. A boy was standing, looking out of a window in the gothic looking house opposite his. With a mop of black hair, and a piercing expression.

'What a strange boy?' thought John. He stared at him, And only stopped when his mother ushered him inside.

As John ran up the stairs with his sister, to fight over the best room, that image of the boy haunted John, and would do so for the rest of his childhood.

John spent the first night in his new house tossing and turning. This was to be expected after being in a new house, and nightmares were most certainly consistent thanks to his fathers stories of war in which his father was now part of. But also because he couldn't stop thinking about that creepy boy. He didn't know why, but he intrigued him. After some hours, John finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.

Even though John had finally gone to sleep, he woke up early and decided to explore the new house. There was an attic with two worn chairs and a big bookcase full of dusty books which mountains of junk piled around the setting. John ignored the books and stood on one of the chairs, and stared out of the window, drinking in the vast landscape, peering over the rows of houses and out onto the horizon. 'Maybe this house isn't as bad' he thought curiously.

"John! Harry! Breakfast!" called John's mother tiredly. John clambered down the chair and breathed in the sweet smell of pancakes. John passed by his sister's room; in the battle for the bedrooms, Harriet had won the biggest room, but John was satisfied with the slightly smaller one as it had a big window, which faced the road, and he didn't have many possessions to fill a room with.

John was half way through his second pancake when he heard a knock on the front door. John's mother got up and answered it. John heard voices in the corridor and decided to investigate. And very much to his surprise, he saw the boy whom he seen the day before.

The boy was standing in the doorway with his mother and his much older brother. The boy had a curious, but disgruntled expression on his face as his eyes travelled around the room. His brother was in a way 'inspecting' the room with his eyes and their mother had a hand on each of her son's shoulders. The older of the two boys was leaning against a shining, black umbrella. He was dressed in a pale blue tie, and a fussy white shirt, neatly tucked into smart black trousers, something that a normal fourteen year old would not wear willingly. But before John could continue his silent curiosity, Harriet crossed her arms and scowled at the boy's brother.

"Why do you have that umbrella? It's not raining! And girls have umbrella's, not boys stupid" Harriet pointed out. The boy scowled, he was visually offended. But the boy's mother laughed. A laugh like tinkling glass spread through the room.

"That girl has smarts Mycroft, darling why do you even take that thing around with you!" laughed the mother thoughtfully. The boy continued to scowl but then thought better of him and faked a smile.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood," said the mother, turning her appearance to the Watson family. She seemed harmless enough thought John, so he smiled a little, encouragingly. But as she kept talking, he found himself drifting away. John wasn't being rude, but he longed to finish his breakfast and to finish his exploration around the new house. And as he was drifting away, he looked at the boy he had seen the day before. Now that he was up close, the boy startled him. He was wearing a fantastically long grey coat, which made him look even more mysterious. The coat covered a plain white shirt that wasn't tucked in and some grey shorts with worn cuffs. He had thick luscious locks of dark brown hair. John couldn't see what colour the boy's eyes were, as they were pointed out of the window. But again, John was interrupted from his gaze as the older boy was now staring at him curiously. John felt uneasy at this inspection, so he continued to look away.

Soon enough the talking had stopped, as the family had traipsed out of the house. The younger boy left, his coast swishing as he walked. And the older boy gave a quick nod at John. It wasn't obvious, but slightly noticeable as if only John saw it.

"They seem nice," said Mrs. Watson politely.

"They are weird," said Harriet in response. John didn't say anything, but looked out after the family going back to their house quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

A week passed after John and his family had moved into their new house. John had personally examined every inch of the house, but now he was bored. Harry had dragged John with her on her hunt for a new gang of friends in the neighbourhood park at the bottom of the road. John had discovered that there were no boys of his age; they were either much younger or much older than him. Harry had quickly latched herself into a group of older girls. John normally made friends quickly, but with no material to work with, he sat on the swings alone, watching the other children play.

John had tried to push back the image of the boy with black hair to the back of his mind, but it kept cropping up. John didn't know why, so he mentally assured himself that it was due to boredom.

It was a Sunday when John finally met this mysterious boy that filled Johns thoughts. John's mother had gone shopping and left John and Harry in the care of their next door neighbour, Sandra. John didn't like her one bit. All she did was complain that she was single and hogged the TV. Harry had gone off with her friends so John was left watching endless episodes of 'Hollyoaks' and 'Neighbours' with his neighbour.

After an hour of mind-numbing soaps, John got bored. So he went and sat outside by the front door. Opposite the house, he saw the boy his thoughts had been plagued with. The boy was arguing with his older brother other something. John managed to catch a bit of their conversation.

"-I keep telling you to stop playing with dead animals, if you keep doing this, I'm telling mummy" growled the older brother.

"But its for science!" retorted the younger boy stamping his foot.

"What about those anatomical books I gave you?"

"Boring, I prefer to do my own examinations"

"Well I'm not helping you this time"

"But you promised!"

"You threw my umbrella in the road last time!"

"It was in the way"

"Which is why I am not giving you my pocket watch"

"I'll be careful, and I need it! Mummy won't buy me a new one"

"1) I don't want to encourage you to measure the time it takes for a frog to de-swell post-mortem, and 2) That's because you chucked it in grandmothers pond when you made a mistake when measuring-"

The boys stopped talking as the younger boy scowled at his older brother and went back to prodding a dead, swollen frog. The older brother sighed heavily, and went back inside.

John watched the boy for a minute, and he brought out a scratched pocket watch from the safety of his pocket. He stared at the boy, and then looked at his watch. He clasped it safely in his palm and walked over to the boy.

The boy looked up but went back to his prodding.

"Uh here, use mine," said John quietly. The boy looked up.

"Use what?" asked the boy; his voice was a deep purr, even for a young boy.

"My pocket watch" said John.

"Oh… thank you," said the boy, as John passed him the watch. The boy examined the watch for a moment.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" the boy asked. John paused at the looked at the boy.

"Sorry?" John spluttered.

"Your father? Fought in Afghanistan or Iraq?" the boy replied moodily, turning the watch over in his hand.

"Afghanistan, sorry how did you-"

"Shut up" said the boy.

"What?" said John.

"I'm trying to do an experiment and your talking is interrupting me," replied the boy in a harsh tone. John went silent, and stared at the frog that the boy was continuously prodding. This went on for a few minutes until the boy had finally managed to puncture the frog after the series of violent prods. The boy muttered cheerfully under his breath as he timed the deflation of the frog. After a tedious minute the boy scribbled something in a miniature black notebook in a boyish scrawl. The boy looked contently at John and passed back the watch.

"Perfect, that will be very useful," said the boy. John looked at him confusedly.

"Why did you just skewer a dead frog and then time it?" John asked bluntly, but he then reddened after his short outburst. The boy looked at him.

"Experiment." Said the boy as he stood up and to John's delight, was shorter than him. John was conscious of his height as he always seemed to be the smallest one, and this boy being shorter than him delighted him. The boy saw John mentally comparing their heights and stiffened; he was also conscious about his height.

"So how did you know about Afghanistan?" asked John curiously.

"Your watch" said the boy.

"My watch?" asked John.

"Yes your watch, its heavily scratched meaning heavy use. Some of the newer scratches are deep which points to heavy terrain, armed forces. This was affirmed because your father died in combat. This could also mean that your family has a history of armed service, which explains the older scratches. The brass is buffed which means sentimental value, and means that it's been passed down through generations. You're still sore after your father's death that shows why you keep your watch on you at all times. It's a wonder that you let me borrow it seeing as you don't know me, meaning you must trust me, which means trust issues, probably brought about after your fathers death and why you don't like to be with your sister or your mother as they never pay enough attention or seemingly care about you enough."

"That was…amazing," breathed John. The boy looked at him, deadpanned.

"You think so?" asked the boy quickly.

"Of course it was, it was amazing," said John.

"That's not what people normally say," stated the boy.

"What do people normally say?" asked John.

"Shut up!" replied the boy. John laughed, and as did the boy.

As they were stopping laughing, the boy's brother came outside and looked at the two boys giggling.

"You must be John Watson, nice to meet you," said the boy, extending out a hand. John shook it uncertainly.

"I am Mycroft Holmes," said the older boy. Mycroft looked at the remains of the frog and grimaced.

"Please put that on the compost dear brother, and mummy called for dinner" said Mycroft as he went back inside.

"Well, Must go," said the boy, turning to the door.

"Wait, what's your name?" asked John.

"Sherlock Holmes" said the boy with a grin, and he went inside and closed the door.

Little did John know, Sherlock was soon to become an important person in his life.


End file.
